PRICE 6d. call his poem "The Wandering Jew," or "The Victim of the Eternal Avenger." Both names occur in the manuscript; but had the work been published, it is to be The poet shelley—his unPUBLISHED WORK, hoped that he would finally have fixed on the former, the "THE WANDERING JEW." We now proceed to redeem the promise we made last Saturday, to give our readers a more detailed account of this exceedingly interesting poem. There can be little doubt that, with the single exception of Lord Byron, no poet of our day has evinced a more strikingly powerful and original genius than Shelley, indeed, in so far as originality is concerned, he is probably entitled to claim precedency even of Lord Byron. Hardly, therefore, could there have come into our possession any literary curiosity upon which we should have placed a greater value than an unpublished work by the author of the "Cenci ;" for, much as we regret the fallacious and unhappy principles which Shelley was induced to adopt, and whose spirit he was too much in the habit of infusing into his writings, we hesitate not to own the great admiration we have ever entertained for his profound abilities. more especially as the poem itself contains very little calculated to give offence to the religious reader. The motto on the title-page is from the 22d chapter of St John,"If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? -follow thou me." Turning over the leaf, we meet with the following dedication:-" To Sir Francis Burdett, bart. M. P., in consideration of the active virtues by which both his public and private life is so eminently distinguished, the following poem is inscribed by the Author." Again turning the leaf, we meet with the "PREFACE. "The subject of the following Poem is an imaginary personage, noted for the various and contradictory traditions which have prevailed concerning him-The Wandering authenticity of this fact, the reality of his existence. But as Jew. Many sage monkish writers have supported the the quoting them would have led me to annotations perfectly uninteresting, although very fashionable, I decline presenting to the public any thing but the bare poem, which they will agree with me not to be of sufficient consequence to authorize deep antiquarian researches on its subject. I might, indeed, have introduced, by anticipating future events, of the battle of Armageddon, the personal reign of J-C—, the no less grand, although equally groundless, superstitions &c. ; but I preferred, improbable as the following tale may appear, retaining the old method of describing past events: it is certainly more consistent with reason, more interesting, even in works of imagination. With respect to the omis sion of elucidatory notes, I have followed the well-known maxim of Do unto others as thou wouldest they should do unto thee.' "January, 1811." The incidents are We have already mentioned that the whole of the manuscript of "The Wandering Jew," now in our posses sion and which, we have every reason to believe, is the only copy extant—is written in Shelley's own hand, and that it must have been composed about twenty years ago. This latter fact is sufficiently established by the date affixed to the Preface, which is "January 1811;" and the Preface bears internal marks of having been written after the poem, which may therefore be set down as belonging to the year 1810. It is, consequently, in all likelihood, the very earliest production of Shelley's pen; for that wild and astonishing poem, "Queen Mab," was not written till 1811, and was not given to the public The poem introduced by the above Preface is in four till 1815. In 1811, Shelley was only eighteen, and he cantos; and, though the octosyllabic verse is the most himself, writing from Pisa in 1821, says," A poem, prominent, it contains a variety of measures, like Sir entitled Queen Mab, was written by me at the age of Walter Scott's poetical romances. eighteen, I daresay in a sufficiently intemperate spirit," simple, and refer rather to an episode in the life of the &c. It thus appears, that "The Wandering Jew" must Wandering Jew, than to any attempt at a full delineation have been written when the poet was only seventeen, and of all his adventures. We shall give an analysis of the when his talents were entirely unknown. It may pos- plot, and intersperse, as we proceed, some of the most insibly have been offered to one or two booksellers, both interesting passages of the poem. It opens thus, in a strain London and Edinburgh, without success, and this may account for the neglect into which the author allowed it to fall, when new cares crowded upon him, and new prospects opened round him. Certain it is, that it has been carefully kept by the literary gentleman to whom he intrusted its perusal when he visited Edinburgh in 1811, and would have been willingly surrendered by him at any subsequent period, had any application to that effect been made. A poem written by a lad of seventeen would, in most cases, possess little attraction; but when it is recollected that the same individual produced 66 Queen Mab" at eighteen, and afterwards, during his brief career, stood in the very first place of intellectual superiority, the case is altered, and the primitiœ of such a mind become perhaps still more interesting than its most matured efforts. Mr Shelley appears to have had some doubts whether to of subdued and tranquil beauty: "The brilliant orb of parting day Still sparkling with the snow; "Twere there even luxury to grieve; For ne'er did the sun's splendour close On such a picture of repose ;— Save where the music of the rill, Or a distant waterfall, At intervals broke on the ear, Which Echo's self was pleased to hear, And ceased her babbling call. With every charm the landscape glow'd Which partial Nature's hand bestow'd; Nor could the mimic hand of art Such beauties or such hues impart. "Light clouds, in fleeting livery gay, The smooth turf trembling as they bound, "Ah! days of innocence, of joy, Haste on,-ye roseate hours, Free from the world's tumultuous cares, 'Tis yours, beneath this favour'd clime, And beat with light and careless step the ground; The fairest flowers too soon grow sere, Too soon shall tempests blast the year, And sin's eternal winter reign around." Amidst the sights and sounds of the scene thus described, a traveller is seen descending the hills in the vicinity of Padua, He is attracted by the tolling of a convent bell, and seeing a crowd assembled at the gate, he enters, along with others, the convent chapel, after the sun has already set and vespers are over : "Dim was the light from the pale moon beaming, Or, from the western window streaming, To the eye of enthusiasm strange forms were gliding, And indefined shades in succession were striding The pillars to the vaulted roof In airy lightness rose; Now they mount to the rich Gothic ceiling aloof, A young novice is about to take the veil, or rather, it is about to be forced upon her. She is thus spoken of: "Light as a sylph's, her form confest, A perfect grace and symmetry; Or beam with sensibility, To Heaven were raised in pious prayer, A silent eloquence of woe; And now she beat her bosom bare, As pure as driven snow. Nine graceful Novices around Fresh roses strew'd upon the ground, In purest white array'd; Three spotless vestal virgins shed Sabean incense o'er the head Of the devoted maid." Just as the ceremony is about to be performed, the intended victim, by a sudden impulse, throws herself among the crowd, and rushes from the chapel. The stranger, who has already felt interested in her fate, flies to her assistance, catches her in his arms, and bears her away through the gathering twilight beyond the reach of pursuit. A storm comes on; they seek shelter, and briefly inform each other who they are. The nun's name is Rosa, and the stranger is Paulo-the Wandering Jew. They conceive, strangely enough, a sudden affection for each other, and the first canto closes with the expression of Rosa's consent to share the future fortunes of Paulo. It is curious to observe, before proceeding to the second canto, that, in illustration of something said by Paulo, Shelley quotes, in the margin, the following line from Eschylus, so remarkably applicable to his own future fate, 66 · Εμε θανόντος γαια μιχθητο πολι.” In canto second, we are introduced to Paulo's castle on the banks of the Po, where he lives in deep retirement with Rosa, visited only by Victorio, an Italian of noble birth, who resides in the neighbourhood. Some bold and vigorous descriptions of Alpine scenery follow. But it is evident that Paulo is not happy, and he spends a wild, uneasy life: "Strange business, and of import vast, And o'er his features roam, Oft as they spent the midnight hour, And heard the wintry wild winds rave As he mutter'd strange words to the ear?— As if some strange form was near? Fierce as a fiery furnace glow, As it burn'd with red and lambent flame; As gasping he labour'd for breath. It glared with terrific gleam, Would chill like the spectre gaze of death, As, conjured by feverish dream, He seems o'er the sick man's couch to stand, "But when the paroxysm was o'er, And clouds deform'd his brow no more, As on his form with pitying eye, And wiped the drops of agony, The music of her siren tongue Or midnight dreams, his sorrows fled : He sank and fainted on her breast." These and similar passages naturally prepare the mind of the reader for the history of the Wandering Jew,-to which indeed they are merely introductory. We can afford room for only one other extract from this canto; it is a passage immediately preceding the commencement of Paulo's narrative, and is one not unworthy the future author of "Prometheus:" "'Twas on an eve, the leaf was sere, More wildly strange their converse grew. "They talk'd of the ghosts of the mighty dead, If, when the spark of life were fled, They visited this world of woe? When strange forms flash'd upon the sight, Thought upon thought began to rise; From the seraphic strings! SONG. What sounds are those that float upon the air, Nightly those sounds swell full upon the breeze, Now rests that form upon the moonbeam pale, Oft will it rest beside yon Abbey's tower, That form, the embodied spirit of a maid, Forced by a perjured lover to the grave; A desperate fate the madden'd girl obey'd, And from the dark cliff plunged into the wave. There the deep murmurs of the restless surge, The mournful shriekings of the white sea-mew, The warring waves, the wild winds, sang her dirge, And o'er her bones the dark red coral grew. Yet though that form be sunk beneath the main, Still rests her spirit where its vows were given; Still fondly visits each loved spot again, And pours its sorrows on the ear of Heaven. That spectre wanders through the Abbey dale, And ere long all of us must meet her there." At the conclusion of the song, Paulo declares his intention to relate to Rosa and Victorio, who is also with him, his past adventures, which he accordingly does in the next canto. Cantos third and fourth are by far the finest; but our extracts having been so copious already, we must postpone their consideration till next Saturday, when we promise our readers several passages of thrilling power and beauty. Sermons on various Subjects and Occasions; including three Discourses on the Evidences, the Obligations, and the Spirit of the Gospel. By the Rev. James Walker, D.D., F.R.S. E., of St John's College, Cambridge, Episcopal Professor of Divinity in Edinburgh. To which is added, a Sermon on Redemption. By the late Rev. James Ramsay, A.M., Vicar of Teston, and Rector of Nettlestead in Kent. London. Rivingtons. Edinburgh. Bell and Bradfute. 1829. SERMONS may be divided into two classes, the purely didactic and the persuasive; or, in other words, the doctrinal and the rhetorical. The French, generally speaking, excel in the latter, while the English are found to have devoted their talents and learning almost entirely to the former. The interests of a contested Reformation first led our countrymen to a minute examination of the grounds of their faith; whereas the hereditary and more constant belief of the Roman Catholics has allowed their pulpit orators at all times to dilate more exclusively on the beneficence, the grace, the hopes and the fears of our holy religion; to connect it more closely with sentiment than with reason; and to employ its divine authority for stirring the affections of the heart, rather than for confounding the sophistry of the sceptic, or for strengthening the conclusions of the speculative Christian. The solemnities, too, of the Popish Church, invested with the powerful associations which have come down to her on the current of a venerable tradition, afford a subject extremely favourable to the declamations of an eloquent preacher; who, on the annual festival, addresses not only the faith of his auditors, as applicable to the grand mysteries in which they are engaged, but also their imaginations, excited by the splendid accompaniments of their captivating ritual, and warmed by the recollection of those old times, when their remotest ancestors are supposed to have performed a similar service. The people, moreover, in the countries of southern Europe, present in their ardent susceptibility, an advantage to the Christian orator, which is every where denied in these cooler and more argumentative latitudes. Hence the appeals of Massillon, which, in his native land, were attended with effects resembling the power of electricity, would have fallen on the ear of a Scotsman like the bursting of a soap-bubble, and, instead of alarming the conscience and shaking the nerves, would only have given birth to a feeling composed of surprise and ridicule. When placed on the narrow isthmus which divides the of meeting) not even the "shadow of the ghost of an ing of a story called "The Tyroler," the whole of which idea." To return from this digression. we like exceedingly :— The work before us consists of a series of tales, which the author informs us are pure fictions,” “inventions," | but in which the character of the late wars is so completely preserved, that they seem "truth in fairy fiction dressed." They abound in tender, interesting, and often heart-rending incidents, beautifully relieved by consolatory glimpses of the brighter side of things. Throughout the whole work there runs a deep vein of piety, and of poetry; of amiable feeling, and frequently of strong and original conception. The first volume is entirely occupied by one tale, "The Spanish Brother." It opens with the following description of Cordova. "Cordova, in Spain, is a city of ancient and fair renown, and has been always very famous in the history of that romantic land. The capitano of the mule train coming from Castile and La Mancha, as he winds down the bare and stony road which descends from the gloomy solitudes of the Sierra Morena, does always suspend his way-beguiling song at the welcome sight of its cathedral tower-points out to the traveller in his company where its white dwellings lie, sunny and shining among green and pleasant gardens, and promises him both plenty and pleasure in merry Cordova; is garrulous about its snowy bread-its fine fruit-its excellent chocolate-its delicious ices;-tells of the famous mezquita of the many and gay festivities-the bull-fights;-forgets not to narrate how black the eyes, how small the feet, of the pretty donnas; and above all, how that wine is so good and so cheap, that vino puro, e non poco,' is the motto of the men of Cordova. "It was, in truth, a merry city some twenty years ago, and the most aged person within its walls could not remember when it had been otherwise. Had any one at that period passed through its streets in the noon of a summer night, he would have heard the tinkle of light guitars, and the rattle of lively castanets, from many an open casement.In the very midst of their accustomed pleasures, as they lay singing in the lap of peace, they were startled by the voice of war." The entrance of the French into Cordova, and their consequent excesses, are thus described : "The trumpet of France already sounded at her gates the eagle of Napoleon hovered over the devoted city, and the dusty Legion, which arrived before it on the burning noon of a hot June day, with scarce a pause for breathing or refreshment, formed its black column of attack. "One hundred sappers, with the necessary tools, advanced briskly to the stockades and barriers; they were covered in their dangerous but familiar labours, by the quick and well-directed fire of a cloud of skirmishers, and a few pieces of cannon. "The Spaniards were astonished: their own heavy but irregular fire, did neither check the boldness, nor disturb the good order of their enemies. Some of the French sappers fell by the very knives of the people; but after a short struggle, the barriers were in part demolished, a breach effected, and a heavy column of French infantry rushing through it, like the loosened torrent of a tumbling river, flooded the city. Alas, for Cordova! The troops and mercenaries retreated with despairing haste and terror-her citizens, resisting many of them to the very last, taking the last true shot, giving the last firm stab, fell slain upon their own thresholds, and saw not the miserable after-scenes the swift and headlong runnings-the hands together smote, and uplifted in agony to Heaven-the pillaged altars-the defiled beds-babes in their innocent blood. Alas, for Cordova! At length the shades of evening closed in; from blowing open doors, and breaking in windows-from plundering and killing, the soldiers betook themselves to cooking and drinking. Furniture served for fuel, and wine ran free in the open cellars, and they sung-the happy and in nocent fellows-about 'L'Amour et La Glorie;' and at length, tired with the toil of their pleasant crimes, placed their booty-filled knapsacks beneath their heads, and slept -without a dream. The bright moon of a lovely June night, sailed calm and silent in the blue heavens above them, and looked with its soft light as kindly on their slumbers as on those of cradled infancy." We cannot, of course, attempt any analysis of the different tales; but we shall present one other specimen of Captain Sherar's powers. It is the following spirited open "Hand never rested more lightly on a stile, nor did the gathered feet ever clear a leap more cleanly. than those of Albert Steiner, as, late on a pleasant and sunny evening early in April 1809, he vaulted over the stone fence of a cattle yard, belonging to the good inn, the Golden Crown, in the small post town of Sterzingen. He had been journeying all day; but his heart was light, his rifle hung steady on his manly shoulder, and his thoughts were running on before faster than he could keep pace with them, to greet his dear Johanna, the kellerim of this clean and comfortable hostelrie. "It was a month, a long month, since he had looked into her soft eyes, and he came as usual by the mountain path, and entered, as was his custom, by this yard. Here he was not unfrequently met and smiled upon by the welcome of Johanna; but now, as he made his footing in it, a very different scene was presented to him. Instead of the lovely kine with the full udders waiting the milking-hour, there were a dozen or more fine stout tall chargers, with their heads fastened up against a dead wall, and a brawny Bavarian dragoon, in forage-cap and stable dress, with each. The jump of Albert, and his sudden turning of the corner, made the nearest horse start; and the like motion being instantly gone through by the whole squad of these full-fed animals, there arose a volley of rough curses, which, Albert was made sensible by look and gesture, he was at liberty to appropriate. Although a little startled himself, Albert readily recovered his self-possession. "You have brave cattle, friends.' "Yes, friend,' said the nearest soldier,-a fierce, surlylooking giant, with sandy moustaches o'ershadowing his mouth with their rude bristles; 'yes, and good swords to boot.' "A good horse is more to my fancy,' rejoined Albert. "I should guess so,' said the soldier, though I suppose it's not much use you could make of either; to be sure, if you held the mane fast, and put his head the right way, four legs would carry you faster out of danger than two.' "Did you ever see a bear?' asked Albert. "What do you mean, you goat-herd?' "I mean that I have killed many a one in these rocks above you, and made no words about it.' "The slow and surly Bavarian did not understand Albert's words to the full; but as he looked into the blue and brilliant eyes of the fair and fearless youth, who stood erect before him, with very evident contempt in his smile, he saw that he was defied. "I will tell you what, my jack-bird,' said he, you shall take your naked feet out of this quicker than you brought them in, and by the same road. With that he dropped the wisp of straw from his hand, and, relying on his huge size and superior strength, advanced towards the youth to put his threat in execution. Albert, stung by the sneering mention of his mountain costume,-for he wore the sandal on his naked foot, and upon his graceful and well-proportioned legs the half-stocking without feet, gartered beneath his small firm knee; stung by this, and eager for an essay of his prowess against a Bavarian, he slipped his rifle quietly on the ground behind him, and, with fixed eye, awaited his antagonist. The heavy monster put out his broad and bony hands to seize the shoulders of Albert, but, ere he had a firm hold of him, the active youth, with equal courage and address, had caught him behind the knees, and threw him prostrate in his cumbrous length upon the puddly ground. "There, bullock, lie there, and have a care in future how you play tricks with naked-footed mountaineers,' exultingly cried the young Tyroler, and, catching up his rifle, he walked past the man towards the house, before, stunned by the shock, the soldier had breath to regain his legs. "The loud laugh of his comrades galled the savage soldier to madness, and with clenched fists, and an arm raised as though collecting all his strength for a ponderous blow, he ran after Albert, who turned to face him, and dexterously avoiding the descent of it, had the fresh triumph of seeing his clumsy assailant trip against a stone, and fall prone upon his face. But by this time phemus of old, he roared out for his sword, and swore he "With a fury as fierce and well-nigh as blind as Polywould have the young brigand's blood. a window above, called out in anger to the sergeant below, an officer, who had been spectator of the whole scene from and bade him place the infuriated giant in confinement. REALLY Mr Chambers is the most indefatigable and active writer extant. He is enough to kill any degenerate modern reviewer twice over, except ourselves, who being nearly seven feet high, are not easily killed, though we confess he works us hard. If he goes on publishing at this rate, the periodical press will all be seen puffing after him like so many wearied hounds chasing a stag up a mountain, who, fresh and agile, turns round now and then to snuff their approach, shaking his towering antlers in sportive ridicule. All his books, too, are so full of amusing and interesting matter, that it is impossible to give him any thing like an extinguisher, or even a check. We confess we should like exceedingly to ride our high horse over him,-to bury him under a few Johnsonian periods, from which it would cost him the labour of a month to have himself dug out. But there is no getting hold of him to give him a fair shake. He is one of those fortunate individuals whom every body seems to have a liking for, and whom no one can speak very severely of though he tries. The volume before us gives an account of two distinct episodes in Scottish history, connected only by the reference which they both bear to the House of Stuart. These, together with Mr Chambers' two former histories, afford a complete narrative of the struggles made by the friends of the Stuarts in this country to support the fortunes of a falling family, and vindicate its hereditary right to the throne in opposition to the determination of the majority of the people. It is true that neither the insurrection in 1689 nor in 1715 is at all to be compared in importance and interest to the religious civil wars which agitated Scotland in an earlier part of the seventeenth century, or to the spirit-stirring Rebellion of 1745, when Prince Charles Edward passed through the land like a dream, and it was impossible to say whether the waking from that dream would be upon a throne or a scaffold. But, nevertheless, there is no inconsiderable degree of interest attached to the military exploits of Dundee; and the insurrection of 1715 deserves a faithful chronicler, more, perhaps, on account of the spirited expedition of the Brigadier MacIntosh, than for any thing that was done by the vacillating Mar, or the feeble and pusillanimous Chevalier. On the whole, we have been well satisfied with the manner in which Mr Chambers handles both his narratives. It is very well known that he is a Jacobite, and an incurable one; but we are not prepared to say that this is worse than being a Whig; and were he neither one nor other, we would not give a fig for him. What we have principally to object to in his first historiette is, the impression it gives of Dundee's character, which, if it be not a good deal too favourable, the "bloody Claverhouse" has been grievously wronged. As Mr Chambers, however, has a theory of his own regarding Dundee's character, and as the passage, though perhaps to some it may appear fully as ingenious as sound, is unquestionably an able one, we shall extract it: "He possibly was one of those individuals, whose souls are such an exquisite compound of lofty aspirations and groundling common sense, that, for the very purpose of elevating themselves out of the irksomely humble situation in which they find themselves placed by fortune, they will heartily grapple with, and perform with the most serene punctuality, every duty connected with their place in society, carrying through degradation and drudgery a spirit which will eventually shine out, when the grand object is attained, with uninjured splendour. Minds of this order resemble the fairy-gifted tent in the Arabian Tales, which was so small as to be carried in the pocket of the proprietor during the day, but at night could be expanded to such a width as to cover a whole army. The world, which is too apt to judge of men with a mere reference to their origin and early history, is seldom liberal enough to suppose, in the case of a man exalted above his native sphere, that he may have all along, from the very first, possessed a talent and a spirit which fitted him for high situations, but generally accounts for his rise by either the vulgar error of good fortune, or by suggesting that he was tempted forward, step by step, by prospects which gradually opened before him. It is, however, abundantly evident, that such minds often exist, and that their rise is entirely owing to the discretion with which they have managed their powers. Their merit prudent or possible, in their earlier situations, to give it oswas from the very first equally great, but only it was not tensible shape. To such an order of minds so great, yet so humble so far reaching in contemplation, yet so diligent in minute employment-Dundee unquestionably belonged." -Pp. 20, 21. But, whatever Dundee's faults or virtues may have been, he was, beyond all doubt, a very able general; and of his qualifications in this respect, our author has drawn an animated, and, we believe, a just picture, in the following passage: "During this campaign, which lasted from the beginning of April to the end of June, Dundee and his Lowland friends suffered all the hardships incidental to a residence in the Highlands at that early period; often wanting bread, salt, and all other liquors but water, for several weeks, and scarcely ever sleeping in a bed. Under any other commander, perhaps, than Dundee, such privations would have occasioned discontent and desertion. Under him, they were endured at least without complaint; for what gentleman or private soldier could think himself ill treated, when he saw his leader suffering the very same hardships, without uttering a murmur? Dundee was exactly the sort of general to sustain the spirits of men under the distresses of a campaign like the present. He demanded no luxury or indulgence which could not be shared with his troops. If any thing good was brought to him to eat, he sent it to a faint or sick soldier. If a soldier was weary, he offered to carry his arms. He had also the invaluable qualification of being able to exist with little sleep. Tradition, in Athole, records of him, that, during one night, which he spent in a gentleman's house there, he sat writing till morning, only now and then laying his clenched fists on the table, one above the other, and resting his head thereon for a few minutes, while he snatched a hurried slumber. Besides being able to sleep by mouthfuls, he had other qualifications which fitted him in a peculiar manner for keeping alive and controlling the spirit of a militia like the Highlanders. He adapted himself to the manners and prejudices of that people, and caused them, instead of regarding him with the jealousy due to a stranger, to behold him with a mixture of affection and respect superior even to what they usually entertain towards their chiefs. He walked on foot beside the common men, now with one clan, and anon with another. He amused them with jokes-he flattered them with his knowledge of their genealogies- he animated them by a recital of the deeds of their ancestors, and of the verses of their bards. He acted upon the maxim, that no general ought to fight with an irregular army, unless he be acquainted with every man he commands. He never, on the other hand, let this familiarity with his men go the length of generating contempt. The severity of his discipline was dreadful. The only punishment he inflicted was death. Like the corps of the Swiss guard at Paris, he thought that any inferior punishment disgraced a gentleman-all his men he held to be of that rank; and he would not put one of them to the shame of submitting to such an infliction. Death, he said, was properly the only punishment which a gentleman could submit to; because it alone relieved him from the consciousness of crime. It is reported of him, that having seen a youth fly in his first action, he pretended he had sent him to the rear on a message. The youth fled a second time: he brought him to the front of the army, and, saying, that a gentleman's son ought not to fall by the hands of a common executioner, shot him with his own pistol."Pp. 68-70, |